


Lie Awake

by BbyGrill



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Western, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Blood Drinking, Choking, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Freeform, Harems, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Men Crying, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Physical Abuse, Sleep Deprivation, Stockholm Syndrome, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-29 23:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16274792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BbyGrill/pseuds/BbyGrill
Summary: He let his eyes level with the door again and dropped the glass next to him. He lifted his gun, to the door.Of course no one would walk through it, not tonight."Take care of your hair, My Love. Be good to your skin"But those words,"Be a good boy,"He held on to them still, stead fast."And maybe I'll come back for you."





	1. Cut it Open

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> This is basically the vampire Western AU that I wanted but no one was writing lol. This is my first time doing anything close to fanfiction I, I don't have a beta, this WILL be trash. But I'm trying, only because I really want this universe and I wanted more thralled Gavin.
> 
> Please enjoy<3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Hank and Connor.

It was dark out. He'd have to take responsibility for that now.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey that was about as neat as he was (which was not at all). Mixed it with honey and leaned over the counter to stare at the front door.

He was waiting.

It remained closed.

The Sheriff sauntered over to a simple chair in the middle of the living room, grabbing his riffle with the hand that wasn't nursing his drink.

He sat and downed it in a few gulps. He couldn't drink it too fast. It wasn't sweet enough. He let his eyes level with the door again and dropped the glass next to him. He lifted his gun, to the door.

Of course no one would walk through it, not tonight.

_Take care of your hair, My Love. Be good to your skin._

But those words,

_Be a good boy,_

He held on to them still, stead fast

_And maybe I'll come back for you._

 

 

They still haunted him nightly.

 

\-------

 

Connor lifted the collar of his shirt a little higher. He was starving, and the smell of sweat and booze was doing very little to stop him.

He didn't want to move too eagerly. This wasn't the way he was used or even wanted when it came to getting a meal, but he was a long way from home. This visit was going to kill him soon if he couldn't get some one to talk to.

An older gentleman took a seat next to him and asked for a cool shot of burbon. He was dark, _rugged_. He'd doubt that he'd be able to charm him, let alone skirt a set of knuckles to his face, but it was worth a try. Connor himself was babyfaced and beautiful, he knew that, so he could try and use that to his advantage (maybe enjoy himself, too).

He rested his chin on his palm, propped up by his elbow, and put on the most charming smile he could muster.

"Excuse me--" 

He was interrupted.

"You hungry, Connor?"

Connor's gaze flicked up to the old man at the other side of the bar, obviously caught red handed. He was cleaning a glass, resting his tired blue eyes upon him.

It took a moment for him to realize who this man was. He used to be a sheriff from a couple towns over-- a town his mother raided. He was one of the ones he helped escape, and he was glad the man made it out alive, but guilt still ate at his stomach as he looked at the man.

"...yeah," he said meekly.

The man next to him glanced between them. This was a strange exchange, now that you think about it.

"Come on, I'll help you out back."

It old man told the other bar keep to cover him before exiting through double swing doors behind him. Connor hoisted himself over the counter to follow.

"Jesus kid!" He shouted over his shoulder. "There's a side door!"

 

Connor ignored that, in favor of silently following the old man to the bank of the bar, where there was no foot traffic. They wouldn't be seen-- perfect, because it was getting dark out, so he needn't put up his hood.

Connor was suddenly shot with anxiety. No one would see them. If this man really wanted him dead now was the time, here was the place to do it. Sure he could probably take him, but if he had a silver knife laced with something it'd do him in with a single cut. He was _starving_. He was weak. He'd be dust. He didn't smell anything like linden, though.

He didnt want to think about that though. The tried focusing on the guy's name instead. It was sheriff... Sheriff...

Anderson. Anderson pulled out a knife as soon as they stopped and raised it. Connor recoiled immediately-- he knew it! He unwittingly followed a meal that was actually a trap and he was going to die! He was going to die here in this dry ass town, in a dumb ass poncho, all because he wanted to--

The knife met the flesh of the bar keep's hand over a scar that already lie there. The movement was obviously practiced as he cut through the meatiness of the base of the thumb and from it spilt rivelettes of beauty.

Connor gasped as the smell hit him. Anderson offered his hand.

"Well, kid? What are you waiting for?"

He had to make himself be gentle. He was starving, sure, but hunger was no reason for being impolite.

His hands shook as he took the man's hand in both of his, and uttered a soft 'thank you' and he pressed his lips to the gash.

He began to drink.

Anderson's eyes watched him as he lapped from it- the cut was giving him so much so readily. He let it spill into his mouth, huffed as he tasted the ruddy, sharp flavor-- tried his hardest to be neat but he was so hungry. Whatever he missed fell down the man's wrist, down his forearm, and trickled ruby into the crook of his arm. Once he had finished, he ran his tongue over the leftovers. He had to savor this, he wouldn't get a meal this willing for a little while.

Anderson chuffed out nervously. Connor snapped out of his sloppiness at the sound, suddenly standing up straight.

"Th-thank you!! Uh, Mister uh-Anderson, sir," he stammpered.

They both were flushed now, though Connor knew it was more from embarrasment than the usual rosy glow he gained from drinking.

"Hank is just fine, son." 

Connor nodded, and watched as Hank pressed the rag that was tucked into his belt loop to his cut.

"Now tell me what you're doing here. Don't tell me you're on for burnin' down another town."

Connor shook his head vigorously. "Oh no, Mister uh-Hank, sir," he takes a breath and looks away nervously.

"I'm here to talk to the Sheriff. There's something important I need to tell him."

Hank lifts a caterpillar of a brow. 

"Well you gotta set an appointment for that, in town hall. You should walk in first thing tomorrow."

Connor nodded once, like he knew where the hell that was.

"You don't know where the hell that is, do you?"

Connor shook his head this time, he didn't know where the hell that was.

Hank gestered for him to follow him back inside, swaying only a little from the blood loss, and once he found a piece of notebook paper in the back, he drew him a rudimentary map.

"You can stay at the hotel across the street."

Connor thanked him and began to leave. Hank gave a half smile, it was full of concern.

"Oh and hey, kid,"

Connor turned around.

"Be careful out there," Hank says.

 

"This town don't take too kindly to your kind around here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank is a bar keep that used to be a Sheriff at this town before vampires ransacked it to collect thrall.
> 
> Connor was part of the team that attacked that town, who was sent by his mother (Amanda) but he doesn't like the concept of thralling people, so anybody he encounted during the raid he simply scared away. Hank was one of them, so he feels like he owes him.
> 
> Idk if they'll be romantic involvement between Hank an Connor? I have mixed feelings about the concept.


	2. Just Missed Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Chloe, feat. Gavin avoiding doing his job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm really appreciative of the feedback I'm getting<3 You guys are just so sweet.
> 
> Once gain, anything I could improve, feel free to tell me!

"A young man came by to talk with you."

Sheriff Reed looked up from the papers on his desk.

"What?"

The little blonde leaned against the door way. She was his secretary, and a _damned good one_. Her name was Chole, and she was a both familiar face and a welcome sight for him when he'd come to this town for the first time. 

 

She made the transition back to normal civilization much, much easier.

 

"A young man. He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to set an appointment, but I told him to just come back later. I figured you'd be coming in late today."

The way she spoke was adroit, far different from his drawl'd out re-spon-ces. "Did you, now?"

"Yes, sir." She ambled over and placed another stack of reports next to the ones he was looking at. "He'll be back around 3."

"And what time is it now, Missus Chole," he asked, barely looking at the clock.

"Fifteen minutes till three, why?"

 

Reed abruptly stood up from his desk, pushing his chair out from behind him. 

"Well! Ah, I'm gonna take a break for now. Ain't no use starting at the same sheet of paper all day."

Chloe's pretty set of blues widened at his sudden movement.

"But Sheriff," she began. He shot her a crooked grin and lifted a finger in the air before pointing it at her.

"No ma'am! You've always told me that I need more rest. I'll be elsewhere, for a moment, for myself, and I'll be back in about an hour or so."

The blonde's furrowed as her mouth fell into a resigned frown. He was right. She does say that. 

She watched him leave through the office door.

When that kid comes back she'd just tell him to make an appointment; that he'd _just_ missed him and that she was sorry for wasting his time like that.

 

Gavin thought he would end up in his truck or back home for a short nap or a cigarette or something.

Instead he found himself at the local bar.

It was like fate-- God wanted him there, or so he supposes. 

He sits down at one of the middle seats at the counter.

"It's not even six yet, Reed."

Hank slides over a glass of what he usually gets in public. Whiskey, his preferred drink, but much neater-- nowhere near as sweet as he'd like. He'd be damned if he was ever caught putting ice and honey in his shit.

"Wow, it's like you don't want my money," the Sheriff bites back. He takes a sip. Warm. Gross.

"Sure, it's nice, but you're on the job."

"This isn't your job anymore old man," he takes another sip. "This is my break, and I'm doing just fine. In fact, right now?" He takes a long sip. "I'm following your handbook."

He ends the sentence in a yawn.

Hank gives him a sarcastic smile.

"Yeah you're doing real nice, doing me proud." He nods. He leers across the counter and levels his eyes with him. "Hey, Reed, speaking of breaks--- when's the last time you've slept?"

"Wha-" Reed stalls. He blinks before screwing up his face in a nasty sneer. "That's none of your damn business."

Hank shrugs. "Fine." He slides him another glass. It clinks against the one the Sheriff just emptied in his upset.

"Just don't pass out on us."

"Whatever," Gavin mutters, before glancing around the rest of the bar. 

He slept at the desk this morning (it was a little bit after noon, actually). He remembered waking up the his chair in his living room.

What could he say-- he couldn't sleep. He couldn't allow himself to. He had to keep watch. 

He swirls the tawny liquid in the glass and wished it had ice.

But the last time he _actually slept?_ Like, slept _well?_

Yeah, he remembered. It was a couple of years ago. He was warm and he was happy. The cool arms wrapped around him told him that he was beautiful, that he was perfect; and the whole hour before that had hum believing it.

He doesn't want to think about that.

Gavin knocked back the second glass and stood.

"I'm gone," he says. He throws a bill on the table. "Put the rest on my tab for later."

Hank huffed and let him go. He knew from experience that it wasn't worth worrying over him.

 

 

The Sheriff did as he said and came back within an hour or so. When he got back to Town Hall, however, two pairs of baby blue eyes pointed at him as he began to take off his hat.

"Oh, hey, Sheriff--"

 

He suddenly had bussiness elsewhere.

 

They watched his turn on his heel, drop his hat back upon his head, and shuffle back. Chole sighed and turned back to her client.

"I am so sorry Mr. Stern, it looks like the Sheriff will be out for the rest of the evening. I do apologise for making you wait so long in seeing him."

Connor shook his head. "Don't worry about it, I'm in no rush today. I don't have much else to do."

She gave him another apologetic smile before lifting the glasses from the chain around her neck and pacing them on her nose. She flipped open a time sheet, one that would be mostly empty if it weren't for these large black marker blots that ran from midmorning to noon; and then again through dusk till some ungodly hour. In the open spaces were tons of notes crammed in, one hour after the other.

A lot of things got done in very little time, it seemed.

"Okay! If you want him in a good mood, I can get you in on a Wednesday."

Connor brightens. "This Wednesday?"

That's marvelous, he could be gone within the next 4 days and--

"No, no, the _next_ Wednesday. Maybe something closer to Friday, though," she beats the page with the back of her left hand, exasperated. "If we're honest."

Connor blanches.

"Th-thats almost two weeks-- h-h-he doesn't have two weeks," he stutters. 

Chloe frowns. "What do you mean? Is there something wrong?"

Connor sighs. "I'll keep coming by, then, it's very important. I have to talk to him about something..."

The young man looks away and plays with the plain blue kerchief underneath his collar.

"...personal."

Chloe's frown stays on her face. "Feel free to come back anytime. I'll be glad to help you."

Connor nodded once. "Thank you, Miss," he says, and turns to leave the office.

"Be careful out there," the secretary called.

Connor gave a wave over his shoulder. He'll try again tomorrow.


	3. Don't Bite The Hand That Feeds You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all
> 
> Sorry for taking so long to update, this week started off so shitty for me, like more than the usual amount of shitty.
> 
> I'm already working on the next chapter, I want it out by Friday, I'm gonna be so pissed if it's not out by Friday.

The first day he'd come back to the office, the Sheriff was out for the day.

 

The next day, there was an important meeting with the Mayor and the other officers, so he understood that he probably shouldn't bother him that day.

 

The day after that, there was a hell of a scuffle at the drug store at the far end of town that involved a lie about the family that owned it being vampires, and threats of burning the establishment down. True or not, the town couldn't a afford a witch hunt gone sour; _especially_ when you'd consider the fact that the whole town was mostly wooden and the fact that the water tower was on the other side of town.

 

The day after _that_ , Connor watched the Sheriff blatantly avoid him, much like the first day he tried to speak with him.

 

Connor was growing less and less sympathetic for the Sheriff. He didn't want to think that he deserved what was coming for him-- his mother would have told him that wasn't very Christian of him-- but damn. He sure had it coming for him.

 

On the sixth day, a Saturday, the young man decided that he wasn't going to walk in that day. He decided to go speak with the barkeep; partly because he was the best person he knew in town, aside from Chloe, and partly because he was beginning to get a bit parched again.

Normally he wouldn't need a meal for a month, but the stress of warning Sheriff Reed paired with being away from home made him hungrier. Or thirstier?

Whatever the feeling, he just craved blood.

 

Connor stepped into the bar and sat at the counter. Hank was listening to one of the patrons lament about his work load.

"..and I can't just keep quoting empty verses at them," the olive toned man professed. "I can't keep saying 'oh say three Hail Mary's and do it again.' It makes me feel so--" the man stops talking when he notices someone looking his way. Connor jumps and let's his eyes flutter some place else.

He hadn't realized he was staring. How rude of him.

Hank tells the man that he'll be back to talk with him after he deals with this new patron. He just nods and takes a swig from his bottle.

"Hey, kid."

Connor gives an awkward smile.

"Hungry again so soon?"

The smile fell into a frustrated pout at his goading.

"Maybe."

 

They ended up out back again, this time the cut was was made into the space between the thumb and the forefinger, because the first one hurt too much to reopen.

This also meant that the blood didn't flow as fast, to Connor's frustration. They kept stopping every time his teeth scraped for more. Hank would pull away, spooked by the sensation.

"Hey, hey! I said no biting," Anderson rebuked for the third time.

Connor rolled his eyes and pressed his the back of his fist to his forehead. 

"This is-- I can't work with this," he huffs, wiping the excess from his lip.

Hank gives him a withering stare. "It's this or nothing kid, I'm not trying to be yoked up by a child today."

Connor jabs the bottom of the fist that was just on his forehead into the barkeep's chest. His voice firms.

" _I am older than you can imagine_ , sir."

Connor presses into him before stepping back.

Hank didn't show it, but that spooked him a bit more than the biting. Babyface was stronger than he thought.

He still had leverage. He was doing this a penance, as a favor. He didn't _have_ feed the kid. He could just let him starve. He began to wipe up the blood that still managed to flow with his towel.

"Hey, wait," Connor suddenly remembered how hungry he was, and tried to bring Hank back into the conversation before he could stop the blood flow.

"Have you been...? Before?"

Hank was hesitant. "Yes. Once. Just don't feel like going through three more days of _that_ shit 'sall."

Guilt creeped up the back of his neck. How insensitive of him. "I'm sorry."

The barkeep shrugs. "Don't worry about it. When you let me go during that raid, I didn't have to go through that again."

He was right. They were going to drain him. Hank was strong, sure, but he was older and he wasn't particularly pretty. If he'd managed to survive that, the withdrawal symptoms would've been hell.

Suddenly he wasn't so hungry anymore. He instead just felt sick.

"Mr. Hank, sir--"

"Just Hank.”

“Hank? Do you know the Sheriff? Personally? He lived at your last town, too didn’t he?”

Hank nods. “Sure, he was my deputy. One of my best— a pain in the ass but, one of the best. Why?”

“He won’t speak with me, I-I mean I keep missing him and he doesn't seem to want to deal with me outside of an appointment." He takes a breath. "But I _need_ to warn him about this, he's barely got until the next week and I was supposed to be out of here _days_ ago."

Hank's brows rose before squishing themselves against each other. "Tell you what, kid. Tomorrow's Sunday. He'll be in all day, on account of the fact that he won't want to sleep. You should come again tomorrow if you want to catch him."

Connor nodded, thanked him, and bade him a good evening before leaving.


	4. PSA: Tina Says Get Some Sleep, So Get Some Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Tina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all,
> 
> Don't talk to me about why I'm up at 5:15 am when I have a class i have to wake up for in about two hours.
> 
> Please lol

The past few days took a whole lot out of him.

It wasn't helping that the only sleep he'd gotten was in between paperwork, when he'd caught himself dozing for an hour or so. Or when he'd past out, drunk, while keeping watch at his door.

Some one was coming through it. He never knew when, but he's always felt like it was _soon_. 

_Soon_ had been going on for little more than two years now, but Gavin was patient. Alert.

He had to be.

 

He'd almost fainted when he had to talk down a group of youths who'd threatened to burn down the convenience store. One of them shouted that they'll come back, when the owners least expected it.

The way he'd phased it struck him with a bout of dizziness.

When he'd snapped out of it long enough to tell them to settle the fuck down, one of the boys pushed back at him. Looked him over and saw the crecents and dots that littered his neck, and chose that moment to turn on him, instead.

The rest of the boys joined in and taunted him: "with bites like those, they probably gottem whipped, no wonder he's so on their side!"

Gavin to remember right then that he was the Sheriff. The idea was to let them off with a warning, but he was suddenly willing to navigate the paperwork to get these boys behind bars.

His officers took care of that in such a timely manner that he had enough pride in them to tell them 'good work today' when he stopped by the station.

The the store owner's husband-- a man built like a monolith-- stepped forward and shook his hand and thanked him graciously.

Their daughter smiled from behind the mother.

 

Sheriff Reed was sure as hell that those boys were right about them.

 

They seemed harmless enough, through.

Sure, Sheriff Reed did believe that deep in his heart that vampires we're unholy creatures, but there was only one he's got it out for.

 

So he'd leave them be. 

For now.

 

\----

At the station, he'd supervised the booking.

Deputy Chen siddled up next to him.

"Heard those boys ruffled your feathers," she started. She threw an arm around his shoulders. He almost shrugged her off. He knew better than that, though.

She, other than Chloe, was the one person in town who truly tolerated him. Chen, though, was constantly worried about him; something that the other people in his life seldom bother with anymore (not that he blames them). And while he'd normally push back when she'd come off as doting-- he was raised never to take pity-- she was blunt with how she'd treat him. 

She knew nearly everything about him, she was there when he used to be a gin drinker. She was there on those late nights at the bar, where he quietly spilt how terrible his nights are when he stares at the door, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

How, when he does sleep, it's with a gun in the drawer _and_ under the pillows.

She'd throw that back in his face all the time. Tells him flat out that he's not okay, he's not healthy. He knew that, sure, but it's better she aknowledged it rather than dance around it-- like that damn barkeep does.

So instead of pushing her arm off, he makes a face.

"What, Tina."

"Why'd you have them arrested?"

"They were getting rowdy."

"Yeah? Not cause a anything they said?"

"What-- what could they have possibly--"

Tina makes a chomping noise into his ear. This time he pushed her off.

"I'm going on a break." Gavin put his hat firmly back onto the top of his head and turned to leave the station.

"Oh come _on_ Gavin. It's not that serious, it's over now! Hey--" she grabs him by the sleeve of his flannel. "Hey."

He groans and faces her. He wasn't in the mood for this. He didn't want to talk about how messed up he was, not today. He was, not ironically, too tired for that right now. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a long yawn he couldn't fight back.

"Oh gross, your brea--" a yawn of her own cut her off.

They were silent. And then suddenly, they we're giggling.

 

"Gotcha," he snapped, shooting a finger gun at her stomach. She fakes getting hit, hands to her side as she let's out a long _ooooh!_

"You're ridiculous, Chen."

"Ha ha, yeah," she sighs. She places her hands on his shoulders and levels her gaze at him.

"Hey."

"What."

Her face falls into concern. He rolls his head away and takes his hat back off. He hated being looked at like this. He knew he looked sick, with the bags under his eyes and his ghostly palor. 

She's not gonna lecture him about it though, right? That's what he liked about her, he doesn't want this part of his life ruined. Just let him know he'd looked like shit and that he needed to do something about it.

 

"Get some sleep," she barks.

"You know I can't do that."

"Hey," she snaps again. She grips his shoulders harder, as if she's willing to keep him glued to the floorboards. Her brows knitted together as she stared him down. No, she wasn't going to lecture him. 

She was going to be real with him.

 

"No one is coming after you,"

He fidgets.

"No one is going to walk through that door."

 

Her words are so firm, and his eyes fall from hers. He doesn't want to hear the next part.

"It's been two years."

He swallows hard. He hates this part.

"If he wanted you, he'd've already got to you by now."

Gavin let's out a long shakey breath. He sniffs. It sounds too wet for his tastes.

"You understand?"

He lifts his head a bit, thumb digging into the brim of his hat. Chen tilts her head to get to his face.

"Yeah, I get it."

She let's go of his shoulders to give him a couple of rough pats on the back.

"Alrighty, Sheriff. Go home early, get some rest."

 

She turned and left, giving him a salute over her shoulder.

He smiled a bit as she left, before looking around to see if anyone saw him, and letting his face settle back into a deep scowl.

He decided to listen to her this time, checked out early, skipped the bar, and went home. He got straight into the bath when he got there.

 

No booze, no gun, no chair.

 

Just his first solid attempt at sleep for a very long time.


	5. Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff finally goes to sleep, but it's not very restful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all
> 
> I wish I was consistent in posting I really do.
> 
> But in between having to get blood work done and midterm exams, idk what day is what anymore.
> 
> But I'm kinda happy with this chapter.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy<3

Reed thought he’d be able to get straight to sleep. 

Instead he'd put it off. It was instinctive, his body see to have an active adversion to the concept.

He found himself to be struck with a profound restlessness. He cleaned the kitchen, dusted the small living room. He swept. He started to mop, but he'd realized that the bucket he owned had a hole in it, so he left that alone.

 

He stood in the kitchen for an hour, behind the counter, watching the door. 

The door. 

The door was ajar-- did he not close it?

 

He tread soft and slow across the wooden floors. He began to push it closed.

 

Nothing happened.

He was fucking insane.

 

Of _course_ nothing happened. He was alone in his own house.

"I'm alone in my own house."

He had said it to make it concrete in his mind, but instead it felt... sad, once he'd heard it out loud. Even so, though it felt lonely, it felt safer.

 

Gavin turned around and looked around the dark, empty house. His hands fell to his knee caps as he doubled over in a short bout if nervous laughter.

He was fucking insane!

He stood up again, eyes wide and still laughing, and ran his fingers through his hair.

He'll go to sleep, he wants this to stop.

 

He made himself a cheese and mayo sandwich, and washed down how pissed he was that the mayo was making the bread stick to the roof of his mouth with a glass of milk.

Delicious.

(Not really.)

 

He took a long, lukewarm bath. That made him a little more tired. It also made him nervous. Naked, he had to ignore all of the scars on he body he hadn't yet become okay with. All the crecents and the dots. He didn't bathe this way often.

This time, he forced himself to look at them and remember that it's never going to happen again. That all of _that_ was over.

He traced a thick one over his wrist that had been reopened a countless amount of times. It was pink now. Soon, it'll be so light that it'll be gone.

He washed his hair thoroughly and dried himself roughly.

He was very tired now.

 

Gavin lumbered to his bedroom ( _ignored the front door on the way_ ), and the air was stagnant once he opened the door. He hadn't been in here in a while. He'd been keeping his laundry in the bathroom so he could change there.

He peeled back the covers on the perfectly made bed and eased himself underneath them. His body reacted instantly. 

His eyes lolled and his head felt so heavy. 

There was no use in fighting it now.

 

\--

 

The first time it happened, he was asleep.

His body hurt _so bad_ because he'd been beaten for trying to run away.

Richard was very upset at the housemate who'd hurt him, but they we're right. Something had to be done about him. Something worse might have happened.

 

So, as he dozed, on his stomach with a mass of blankets underneath his head, a hand trailed the bare and bruised expanse of his back. This was nothing out of the ordinary, Richard had always had a strange fixation with his skin. 

One hand became two as a kiss was placed on a heel shaped bruise that lay on the small of his back. 

 

His eyes fluttered open and he began to rise.

"H-hey," he began, but he was knocked back down onto his face.

"Stay down," mumbled Richard.

The bed sank around his sides of his battered body as the other loomed over him. His chest lay flush to his back and the buttons on his shirt tickled his back.

 

Another kiss was pressed to his shoulder.

 

He didn't know what to make of this. Richard was fascinated with him, and understood that he'd didn't desire these affections. Richard never minded observing him from afar.

_This_ , this was strange and made Gavin's heart kick up.

 

Richard ran his hands along his arms.

And then a sharp, hot pain shot through his shoulder.

 

Gavin moved to get up again, but a hand pushed him back down between the shoulder blades before both hands pinned his arms to the mattress.

It _hurt_ until it didn't, and a warm wash of euphoria came to him in raptures. 

 

Richard was biting him? He previously had no interest in doing so, and didn't mind punishing him whenever Gavin misbehaved. He didn't need to thrall him.

 

He relaxed as another wave washed over him.

 

He was no longer trying to struggle against him, and instead let out a long, content moan. Richard responded with a muffled moan of his own and pressed him harder into the sheets. One of his legs slipped between the human's and ground against his rear. This earned a gasp from underneath him.

Beautiful.

 

Richard pulled back with a gasp, "ah," and lapped at the leftover mess that spilled down his back. Not a single drop had fallen onto the sheets. 

As he rose from on top of him, Gavin's skin began to hum. He could fall back to sleep like this, he thinks as Richard began to clean and bandage his shoulder. He then remembers being pet, long pale fingers ran through his hair as he drifted back to sleep.

 

The next day he woke up, and his skin was still humming. Richard was still petting him, but now he had Gavin's head in his lap. He remembers being shocked that he didn't mind.

He suddenly didn't mind a lot of things since then. Like, being in a cotton house gown instead of denim. Like, coming when called. Like, being bitten. Yeah, the thought of these things stopped bothering him.

 

His eyes slowly opened, and above him was Richard. His sharp features. His inky hair. His speckled pale skin, which currently had a heavenly flush. 

His icy greys.

"Good afternoon, pup," he greets. "Did you sleep well?"


	6. When You Close a Door, God Opens a Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin sleeps some more, but ho yeah, he's still paranoid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> This took forever to put out. It was mostly written for a long time, I just hadn't been able to finish it because I've hashed it and rehashed it like, a thousand times (I'm still not sure if I like this chapter.) That, and my life has been making me eat a big plate of ass every morning with no milk, straight, no chaser-- so it's whatever.
> 
> I'll try to be more consistent from now on, it should be easy cause I'm dropping a lot of classes soon.
> 
> We're on the home stretch as far as chapter pacing goes though.
> 
> I'm so excited.

It was a rough next few days.

 

Every time he slept he'd think of him, and every time he woke he'd be chilled, skin damp from sweat.

 

Gavin knew he was an anxious man, but this was pretty shitty.

 

He was feeling better though, and sleep made him a bit more amiable than the crotchety old man he usually was. Those around him found him palatable.

 

He walked into the sheriff's office on Friday, in good spirits for once. When he saw Missus Chloe reading letters beneath the lenses of her bifocals, he didn't find it difficult to resist giving her a hard time that afternoon.

 

“Is that from your father,” he asked, over her shoulder.

 

“Yes! He asked about you,” she answered, with a soft smile. He fought the urge to smile back.

 

Her father, his brother, made a living travelling and selling snake oil to unwittingly desperate customers with the rest of his daughters. He had three other girls, all beautiful and perfectly identical to the one reading next to him.

 

His cheek ticked again as he tried to fight back another smile.

 

Sleep really did change a person.

 

Not too much though. He still skirted that young man that had been coming through for the past couple days. He'd talk to him when scheduled, whatever it was he needed to talk about could wait. 

 

It couldn't be _that_ important.

 

 

The downside to an adjusted sleep schedule was that he was absolutely exhausted by mid afternoon. Deputy Chen stopped by to check on him. 

 

He told her that he slept the whole night last evening. She smiled and told him that that was good, and that he should try for a second round. He remembered what he'd been dreaming about lately and said that maybe he'd think about it.

 

He didn't even have to though. He was out like a light as soon as he returned home, any sort of thinking he had planned was rain checked. 

 

He didn't even have time to drink.

 

The sheets were far too demanding of attention.

 

\-- --

 

This time he remembered having multiple dreams. He woke up a couple times in the middle of the night to either piss or get a drink of water.

 

The one he recollects the strongest was a memory of Richard between his thighs.

 

His own fingers were swimming in inky black hair. He wore a simple night gown, just the way Richard liked. This one was burgundy, because _'autumnal colors looks best against that skin, mouse'_. Pale hands pushed the cloth back and gently rubbed circles into the sinewy skin that lay beneath it. 

 

At that moment in time, there were no scars. No dots. No raised crescents. 

 

That wouldn't last long.

 

Icy eyes flicked up at him. They told him to be careful with where his hands were, that he was letting him touch him. Gavin's fingers dug through sable tresses and scratched at the scalp beneath. Those eyes closed as he peacefully sighed against the dark hairs on his thighs.

 

"Talk to me," breathed Richard.

 

Gavin blinked once down at him. 

 

He did not respond because he didn't know what to say. He felt himself tense when the silence stretched and those hands tightened around his thighs.

 

The vampire was already stressed out, where ever disappeared to for days on end clearly bothered him. His silence was only aggravating him further. 

 

" _Say something._ "

 

It shouldn't be this hard, the prompting made him want to, only he didn't know what to say-- he opened his mouth to speak, but he had no words to let leave his lips.

 

Suddenly he was being pushed back, one hand bracing his hip and the other firm around his throat.

 

He didn't complain at all though. Richard was touching him, and the only thing his body craved those days was his contact. When he wasn't being touched, his skin would sorry of buzz, as if it were begging. Every inch of him would beg for Richard.

 

Those sharp, light eyes narrowed into thin daggers. "I want to hear you. Speak to me." His voice was gentle and impatient.

 

Gavin let his fingers run over the ones around his neck. The contrast was beautiful, in his opinion. Natural colors, tans peaking from underneath alabasters and maroon. Another layer of olive skin against the pale where their hands met. He didn't mind being here, like this. His lips quirked while he thought to himself.

 

If you would have asked him a year ago what intimacy meant to him he wouldn't have even thought of choking.

 

Right now though? It was the sweetest thing. Like a rhubarb pie. Hmm. He should ask for one after this. If he asked nicely maybe Richard would get one for him.

 

He was smiling as he let his mind wander. Richard shook him once and he snapped back to attention. The smile left his face quickly so he could stare attentively at the man hovering above him.

 

"Is this funny to you, pup?"

 

He shook his head twice. "I'm sorry, Richard."

 

Cold blues regarded him from beneath dark fans of eyelashes. "I hate that you're like this now."

 

Gavin flinched.

 

"You're so apathetic that it's _insufferable._ " He was speaking through his teeth now. " _You're insufferable, Gavin._ "

 

Gavin began blinking rapidly as he looks away. He couldn't meet those eyes anymore.

 

Richard pushed him away from himself. "Disgusting." He stood and stepped away from the mattress.

 

Gavin lay still, let the tears gather.

 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, quieter. This made the other turn around.

 

"Sit up."

 

He began to rise from the sheets. Obviously not fast enough however because he was moved to the edge of the bed, with his hands placed into his lap, like a proper doll.

 

"Look at me."

 

He looks at Richard. He's beautiful.

 

Even as he raises his hand. 

 

Even as that hand comes down fast to strike him across the face.

 

\-- --

 

Sheriff Reed jolts awake, sits up abruptly, attention immediately called to the tears streaming over his buzzing, buzzing cheek. His hand runs over it.

 

He rolls out of the sheets to sit on the edge of the bed. The glass of water on the night stand was lukewarm now, but refreshing as it fell down his throat nonetheless.

 

Drinking it a this temperature, however, made him have to piss.

 

He stood and lumbered into the hall and into the bathroom. He finished without washing his hands and started back into his bedroom. 

 

But something made him pause and turn towards the living room.

 

He stared down the front door.

 

It wasn't closed.

 

In fact, it was a bit ajar why was it open he thought he'd locked it he thought---

 

 

Reed steeled himself and walked into living room, and in front of the door.

 

He reached out and... Closed it. Locked it.

 

 

Simple as that. So easy.

 

"I'm alone in my own house."

 

He went straight back to bed.

 

 

\-- --

 

In the next dream, he was in a buff gown. He liked this one because it was collared, and he could keep it as open as he liked.

 

He was outside, enjoying the warm May afternoon. He lay on the tiny white flowers in the summer garden, sunning as the gardeners rambled to each other about upkeep.

 

Other dolls were in the yard doing the a same thing.

 

When he first arrived, he heard the owners of the estate call this "the Valley of the Dolls." He didn't understand it until lately. Thrall threw him into a world of avolition, much like the other men here, and he had never pictured himself being so satisfied with just laying there. Waiting.

 

When he first looked out into the Valley, a myriad of men just like himself lay in the yard in a variety of colored nightgowns, many of their sleeves pushed up to absorb more of the sun.

 

He saw them following their handlers, and the type of color generally told him who they'd belong to. One liked their clutch of thrall in dark, moody colors. Another liked bright, rare ones.

 

Richard only had one to follow him around and liked him in warm, burnt, and neutral colors. 

 

Gavin let out a heavy breath.

 

He didn't mind being like this at all.

 

Footsteps approached and paused next to his head. He looked to the face looming above him.

 

"Your hair is so dirty."

 

He was right. It was covered in moss, leaves, and flowers.

 

A strong, pale pair of hands lifted him from the ground and dusted him off.

 

"And your gown too! For heaven's sake Gavin," the voice was soft as those fingers started to brush through his hair. He closed his eyes and scoffed.

 

"There's no way in hell you're going to heaven."

 

Richard's lip ticked into a smile.

 

"You don't think I already know that? Now come on, you need to bathe."

 

Gavin smiled back.

 

"Whatever."

 

\-- --

 

This time, Gavin woke peacefully to light filtering in from the window. It's actually a beautiful morning, he thinks to himself. His eyes drift to the clock on the wall across from himself. Its a whole four hours before the time he usually wakes. He can't bring himself back to a full doze either.

 

He lays in bed for another hour, enjoying the sun that lazily drifts in from the window as it reaches his back. He thinks about how, by noon, that sun will gain a valuable work ethic out of nowhere and beat down on the civilians below with ruthlessness. The thought makes him laugh.

 

He muses like this for a bit longer before sudden pushing his face up from the mattress. He has his palms placed on both side of his pillow before his neck snaps to the side to look at that window. 

 

 

 _Why the_ FUCK _is that curtain drawn?_

 

He _knows_ that he's a terrible, awful recluse of a man.

 

That entails curtains shut 24/7, 365 days a year.

 

Why is it open why is it open why is it open why are they drawn why ain't it closed why is it open they're supposed to be shut--

 

Sheriff Reed sits back onto his heels and tries to brush the panic from his hair with his fingers.

 

He lets out a single breath through puffed cheeks, before throwing his legs over the side of the bed so he can stand. He brisks over to the window and pulls the curtains shut.

 

 

The room darkens instantly.

 

It feels so much better.

 

He feels...

 

He feels like he needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm open to suggestions as to what should happen next in this story! I know where it's going and where I want it to go, but I just want to know what you guys think about this story and where it could or should go.
> 
> Thanks for reading so far!


	7. Take a Good Look at Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor finally gets to speak with his sheriff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all
> 
> Thanks, as usual, for reading. I know I said I'd be a little faster but I had a project due and then Thanksgiving got really busy.
> 
> Now that everything has calmed down and now that we're getting closer to the end, writers block shouldn't be an issue any more.
> 
> Thanks for reading, once again!

The bar was nearly empty at this hour, of course. The Sheriff sauntered in and sat at a of the seats at one of the far ends of the bar. He takes off his hat and places it on the space beside him. Hank is almost immediately in front of him. He gets great treatment, you know, on account of the fact that he's one of the best patrons.

 

"Your spurs make a lot of fucking noise when you walk, you know," says the barkeep.

 

"Oh, shut up, you _miss_ being able to hear these everywhere you walk," Sheriff Reed spits back. Hank snorts.

 

"You know, I can just cut you off early today. Its not hard, I am in charges of the bottles."

 

"Whatever old man, I came in real early. As if you'd pass up a chance to make this much bank."

 

The old man chuckles and nods with a single raise of his burly brows. "Yeah," he murmurs. He sets out a bottle of the usual and begins cleaning a glass for the Sheriff. "I'd probably start busting out the red ink the moment you decide to quit drinking."

 

Reed laughs once. "Surely."

 

Hank smiles to himself and starts filling the glass with ice. Reed’s brows furrow. 

 

“Did I ask for ice?”

 

The barkeep pauses. “D’you not want ice?”

 

Reed huffs. “Well, don’t waste it now.”

 

He places the glass firmly on the table. “You know, Sheriff, I am so close to spitting in every drink on your tab today.”

 

“...will it cost extra?”

 

Hank barks out a single laugh and goes to open the bottle of whiskey.

 

“Oh, before you do that— can you get some honey on that ice.”

 

Hank raises both eyebrows this time. “What are you feeling sick?”

 

Gavin immediately takes this as an out. “Yeah I’ve got a headache. Was pretty shaken up this morning.”

 

“What happened?” Hank began to drizzle on the honey. “Just say when.”

 

The Sheriff pressed his cheek into his palm and watched the syrup fall lazily from the glass and in between the spaces of the ice. He wishes that he could feel like that. Calm, lazy, and almost liquid. He waits until an excessive layer fill the bottom. 

 

“When.”

 

“What happened,” the barkeeper repeats. He fills the glass and places it in front of the younger man in front of him. Reed lifts it, gives it a good swirl and downs half the glass. He’s silent for a moment longer. Hank places his hands palms down onto the counter and leans back.

 

“Is it your doors again?”

 

The Sheriff shakes his head. “Window, this morning.”

 

“Goddammit, Reed.”

 

“Hey! You fucking asked."

"You're just forgetting that you're keeping them open," Hank leans in. "You're fucking crazy."

 

"You don't think I know that? It's just I never-- the windows--" the Sheriff lets out a sigh. "I...I-it doesn't help that I've been dreamin' about him."

 

The barkeep starts working on another drink for him. He nods once. 

 

"I-I-I know that all of that is over, an-and I'll never have to deal with any of that shit any, uh, more but, uh..." He finishes the second half of his drink and the barkeep slides another as soon as he'd finishes.

 

He downs this one in one go.

 

"I should be fine. I should be fine but I'm-I'm not."

 

Hank listens to Sheriff silently and frowns. Maybe that kid that's been bothering him this whole week had anything to do with the vamp that had Reed so fucked up.

 

They stay in a comfortable quiet for a few hours, with Hank sliding a new drink to his bar patron every now and again.

 

And then, in walks Connor. 

 

He sits _directly_ beside the Sheriff who, upon noticing who he was, shut his eyes and hung his head in quiet exasperation.

 

"Hello, Sheriff Reed, I'm so glad that I could catch you--"

"Boy, I have no _de-si-re_ to see you now," the Sheriff interrupted with a punctuated drawl and the lazy opening of his eyes. "If you really wanna see me, you gotta wait for an ap-point-uh-ment--" he leveled a look at the young man, "and I will most definitely see you then."

 

Connor's doe-eyed face fell as he abruptly shut his mouth. His face remained pale as he looked away, but he most definitely seemed sheepish. Reed studied this.

 

That reminded him of some other pale, freckle smattered man. Men.

 

Richard had a brother. The one who raided the town he'd lived in his whole life, the one Reed served as a deputy in, with an entourage of other vampires. The one who introduced him to Richard in the first place.

 

He remembered being so fatigued, so tired from fighting and struggling against some strong pair of arms as he was being presented amongst other human beings. He would've been thralled immediately, turned into muscle, or enjoyed as a quick snack-- instead Richard stopped his brother from sorting him.

 

"Look at him. He's so lovely."

 

"Are you sure you mean that one? He's so... Brutish."

 

"I mean that one. He's lovely."

 

Richard steps forward to pet his bruised jaw.

 

"I'm going to take him to the Valley." 

 

He runs a thumb over his bloodied lip.   
"What--" the brother begins, when Gavin spits a spectacular coagulate of blood and thick mucus into his face. It lands underneath the set of black eyelashes on the left side of his face.

 

The brother is silent. Richard grunts, appalled, and it makes Gavin smile nastily as he goes to rub it off with a finger.

 

That small instantly dissapates when Richard dips that finger in his mouth. He hums when his finger comes back clean.

 

His hand clenches into a fist and decks his nose.

 

It's a clean break and a loud cry as the man holding him let's him go in shock. Gavin collapses as he covers his face as blood spurts from the inside and runs down the outside of his nose.

 

Richard squats in front of him and draws his tongue across the mess.

 

Disgusting.

 

"Oh, I just have to have him."

 

The brother had looked away from the display, with a frown ( _there's that face!_ Reed thinks, _It's right in front of him now!_ ).

 

"Alright, do what you want with him," he says, "but I doubt that he'd ever be a doll, let alone a good one."

 

Reed blinks back to reality.

 

He looks the young man over-- now that he thinks about it, if that is him, he's not as young as he previously believed. He was much, much older.

 

"I have something very important for you to know an-and I just wanted to get to you before-before h-"

The Sheriff raises his hand to stop him.

 

"What is your name, boy. You look mighty familiar."

 

"My name is Connor," he says. 

Reed blinks again.

 

Yeah, that was him.


	8. Get a Word In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor finally gets the fucking words out of his fucking mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all
> 
> Home stretch, home stretch.
> 
> I'm so excited. I'm getting better at finishing closer to a week after finishing the last one, be proud.
> 
> Thanks for being so patient with me so far, I swear I'm getting better, even though this is a tiny chapter and we're almost done.

"My name is Connor. Connor St--"

The coolness of a gun cuts the poor freckled boy off right between the eyes.

It was shiny. And right between his eyes. And probably _just full_ of silver.

 

"Reed!" 

 

Hank shouted as he suddenly slammed his hands on the counter, as if he was about to jump over the bar to stop the Sheriff. The man's hands shook as he knocked the safety of the peacemaker back.

"Shut up old man! You know I don't go huntin' an-any uh anymore," the Sheriff was slurring, "but oh-hoh-ho- this one's a, one's a bad one."

Connor sat stiffly, inhumanly frozen still on his stool. He'd managed to make it this far out in the open without any precious metals in his skull and he'd like to keep it that way. There was a helluva chance that this could turn even more sour than this had already gone. He just had to keep this volatile man calm.

 

"HE'S THE MOTHERFUCKER WHO KEPT ME LOCK UP FOR A _MONTH STRAIGHT!_ "

 

Oh. Yeah.

 

Connor remembers that.

 

He remembers the screaming and the clawing and the thrashing. He remembers how distraught Gavin was at being left alone, _abandoned_ , by someone who forced him to love them so strongly that the nausea of separation prevented him from eating.

 

The poor thing lost so much weight. No matter how hard he tried to feed him, no matter how good the food was, he never ate. He only cried. Screamed. And clawed. And--

 

He's sure Gavin remembers that too.

 

If Connor could sweat, there would be bullets running down his face. (Bullets like the silver ones in the chamber just inches from his face).

Hank did shut up, though. He and everyone else in the bar were staring at the two, waiting for an explanation.

This town wasn't the quietest, sure, but the townies themselves? They sure liked drama.

They went getting an explanation, though, no matter how much they wanted one. That era was a personal one that neither of them wanted to relive. He opens his mouth to apologize instead.

 

"Your thrall was--"

"SHUT UP!"

 

Connor shuts up. 

He presses his eyes close when the gun nudges his forehead.

 

"Reed, calm down and put the fucking gun away! Leave the kid alone!"

"He's not some kid! He's a monster!"

"You're scaring my other patrons!"

"They should be scared! He's a _monster._ "

 

The monster himself pulled at his collar. He's going to have to think fast on this one. Calm and careful isn't getting himself anywhere.

 

Connor sits back abruptly, leading the gun over his shoulder as the Sheriff startles and fires-- _Bang!_. The shot causes his ears to ring but he lunges forward still, and grips the man before him firmly by the throat and by the wrist that held the gun.

He thinks that, now, he can talk some sense into the Sheriff. The freckled boy begins to speak as soon as the peacemaker clatters on the sticky floor.

"Gavin, this is important my brother is--"

The side of his neck begins to burn terribly and he flinches from the sensation.

 

The barkeep is holding knife to the side of his neck but it _burns_ and Connor for the life of him cant understand why it--

 

It's made of silver. 

 

Connor is absolutely sick of this. It's almost as if, since he'd gotten to town, he hasn't been able to get a word in edgewise.

 

He snaps his gaze to stare Hank down before taking the knife by the blade (he sucks in a breath, it burns, it burns) and dropping it to the ground next to him.

"Humans are the most manner-less--Gavin!"

 

He replaces his hands onto the Sheriff's shoulders.

"Gavin."

The Sheriff stiffens under his grip. He looks like he's doing all that he can not to fight off the hands from his person. He can sweat, and he is sweating bullets.

"What, vermin," he spits, the venom within to weak to cause damage.

Connor pretended that the insult didn't bother him.

"Richard is coming, and I--" he huffs, "I am leaving."

Connor lets the man before him go, and now that he's done everything that he'd arrived to the spittoon of a town to do, he can leave immediately.

All of this stress had him starving, but he could wait until he gets back to the manor to eat.

"So long, All!"

 

The bar was completely silent. 

The Sheriff walks a little ways forward and collects the peacemaker from the floor, and then a little ways away to collect the silver knife as well. 

"Here, Hank," he says softly as he hands the barkeep the knife. The barkeep thanks him.

 

"Will you be alright, son?"

Gavin grabs his hat from the floor and places it on his head.

 

"Uh, yeah, I'll be fine." 

He really believed it, even on the way out.

 

Such news was sobering.

\---

 

It was raining now, but that was fine. It wouldn't be raining where he's going.

It was strange when his brother left earlier in the week, but what ever damage that he'd managed ahead of him, he can surely take care of.

He needed to collect his things.

 

That would be a bit difficult, though. At this point, his things might not want to be collected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all ready for Richard's nasty ass?  
> I'm ready. be ready.
> 
> I'm already thinking about what I'll write after this.
> 
> Would you guys mind telling me, if I threw out a couple of suggestions, what would you guys would be receptive to?
> 
> I'm also thinking about doing a couple of oneshots. Do you guys have any ideas for those as well? I want to get better at this sort of thing, and I'm sure that the only way to get better is practice.
> 
> I love doing this so much and you all have been so supportive. 
> 
> Thank you! Once again! For reading! <3


	9. House Warming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's gotta get packing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Y'all!
> 
> I've been really MIA on this one.
> 
> I had a whole really good chapter in the works but it got deleted, so I worked on something else for a bit because every time I tried writing for this one I would get upset and get massive ritter bloque and then the story would go in a terrible direction and
> 
> TL/DR, I hated it.
> 
> So I took a break and I'm sorry, and as a offering for y'all's patience, y'all get two chapters at once.
> 
> Even though this one's a shortie. The next is a bit longer, I promise.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for waiting for me <3

Richard stood at the edge of the town, waiting for the sun to begin setting and for the single horse carriage coming towards him. The horse immediately stops upon seeing him, like it knew what he’s been doing at this early hour about the outskirts of this town.

 

“Big brother!”

Connor opens the curtains of the carriage and pokes his head through.

“Richard.”

 

Richard smiles and leans against the horse. It tenses underneath him.

“You look well feed,” he hums.

 

Connor frowns and blinks several times. 

Yes, he consulted with Hank for a final meal. He thanked him, of course. He’ll have to come back to repay him. 

Hank said that this was his own way of repaying the vampire for saving him, but he really didn’t have to keep feeding him after he'd fucked up his bar. 

Hank truly was the kindest old man.

 

“Yes, I am. Are you here to collect your things?”

“Yes. How is he?”

 

Connor’s baby brown eyes fall in thought. 

 

“He is... how you had last left him. But you already knew that.”

Richard smiles dreamily. “Mmm.”

 

They ruminate in their silence for a moment. Richard’s smile turns nasty. The horse shuffles.

“What did you tell him.”

 

That wasn’t a question. It was an order. Connor huffs and brings his eyes back up to meet Richard’s.

 

“I warned him. I had to.” 

Richard’s eyes narrowed.

 

“He hates you, Richard.”

_“Don’t say that!"_

 

It was silent for miles around. Richard shouted so loud that anyone outside could have heard him. He lowers his voice.

"Don't say that."

 

Connor chews on his cheek and narrows his eyes. The shadows make his gentle face look dark. 

"It's true, and you should know that. The mere mention of your name spooked him, and I'm willing to bet that it's going to have him skipping town soon."

 

His big brother was right. He began stroke at the horse. It stiffens underneath his touch.

 

“I do not blame him, either. You were just awful to him.”

Richard shoots up another glare. His brother was getting awful bold this morning. He surely didn't forget that Richard was stronger, due only to the fact that he was turned five years after him. Richard could and would throw one of his notorious tantrums if he’d had to.

“Don’t get mean now. You know I’m right.” Connor adjusts himself before starting to reach for the reigns. “Now let go of my horse so I can go home.”

 

Richard steps back from the poor blue horse, who relaxes as soon as he can. 

 

“Tell Mother I shouldn’t be but a week longer.”

“Alright, Richard,” and with that, Connor whips the carriage into motion.

 

Richard watches him ride off into the sienna of the horizon. 

His big brother was wrong. He’ll prove it to him before his dear Gavin could run away.

———

 

As soon as Sheriff Reed gets back from the bar, he’s passed out on the couch.

His dreams are downright awful.

 

They’re all of Richard, and his big fucking hands.

 

One of his hands pinning his left thigh into his rib cage as Richard sinks his teeth into it.

The other squeezing bruises into his stomach. Pulling away only for a moment to watch the blood pool underneath the flesh, only to bite into that too. 

The right one smarting over his cheeks, several times.

The left one running over his shoulders, and then down his spine, and then into the cleft of his ass.

Both of them around his neck, tight, tight, tight where they lay as Richard pounds rough up into him.

 

The Sheriff wakes up nauseous, sweaty and sticky.

 

He’s got to get out of here. 

 

He gets off of the couch and lumbers to his bedroom. As he walks, he decides he’ll finish his last work week here and skip town as soon as he’s packed.

 

Richard was coming, after all. He’s gotta _go._

 

He doesn't go back to sleep. He's moving his shit from his drawers to his bags.

 

He closes the windows that came open. Shuts the front door. He can't let these phase him right now-- besides, he'll never have to deal with these again wherever he's going. 

Hopefully.

 

He does as much as he can before his body tells him that he absolutely must eat breakfast, and boils a couple of eggs as he shaves and dresses.

 

He puts on his hat and slips on his boots before making his ways to the Sheriff's office.


	10. Take a Good Look Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sheriff.... He notices somethings.
> 
> TW for a panic attack that ends with him face down in some dirt <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Y'all!
> 
> Chapter 10. Bam. 
> 
> Just one more to go.
> 
> Sorry once again for neglecting this, thanks so much for your kind words and patience.
> 
> Please enjoy! 
> 
>  
> 
> TW: anxiety/panic attack

The Sheriff silently curses to himself. He arrives on time, dressed and such, but forgets his fucking breakfast.

 

"Oh! Go-good morning, Sheriff Reed! You're so early!"

Chloe. He'll miss her, of course.

 

"I sure am. I need you to do somethin' real important for me."

She nods. "Of course! What do you need-- you look good Sheriff, what's the occasion?"

 

"Nevermind the occasion, just call the Priest by. See if he can't, uh, can’t get to me today."

 

She nods once again before clicking her way to her desk. "Thank you," he murmured, before making his way to his own office.

 

He also had Chloe move up any appointments she could for today. He wanted to get busy, finish anything off that he could before he dissapears. That, and if he's busy, he doesn't have to worry.

So today he spoke with the grocer, and then one of his deputies, Officer Miller, and after that he took a couple of walk-ins, and then came a young miss from the bank about an attempted robbery, and then, at about twelve past four it was very quiet.

His secretary suggest that he take this time for a break. Reed tells her alright, but he's open for anymore people just passing through.

 

He pushes his chair back and lifts his feet up on to the desk. His eyes graze the panelling of the ceiling as he pushes back so the back of the chair tips back into the wall behind him. 

He lifts his hat, he forgot to put it on the rack, and brushes his hands through his short, dark waves. A yawn escapes him.

He places the hat over his face to block the light of the room out, slips his hands behind his head.

The Sheriff soon drifts off to sleep

 

———

"That was beautiful, thank you," 

Richard let's out a sigh and lifts Gavin from off of his chest so he's sitting in his lap again. He presses an open mouth kiss into an open wound on Gavin's wrist.

"May I have another?"

 

Gavin nods, as if he could say no. 

Richard would take what he wants anyways, he thinks, as he stares drowsily down at the vampire. He looks so blissful as he licks and nips the gash back into running. Gavin is starting to feel that high again. He shivers as he starts to grind into Richard's stomach. Richard, with Gavin's wrist still at his lips, starts to lead him over his pelvis, when someone opens the door. Richard growls, runs his tongue over the wound one good time before looking over his pet's left shoulder.

 

"What could you _possibly_ want right now."

It was his brother.

 

"You have to go. Your horses are ready."

 

Richard frowns, his light eyes flicker into Gavin's and then close as he drops his head into the sheets. He let's out another growl.

 

"I'll be down soon," he says, pushing Gavin off of himself.

 

Connor closes the door behind him.

 

“Get dressed, lamb,” he huffs, while taking his own orders. Gavin slips his tunic back on, buttoning the jewel toned buttons down the first.

Richard pulls out a very large chest of drawers. Gavin sits back down.

 

“What the hell is that for?”

“Language, lamb.”

Gavin rolls his eyes and lays back down. Richard ignores him as he checks through the chest. About a quarter of an hour passes before Richard speaks again.

“Come on, Gavin.”

 

Gavin follows him out of the door. He shivers, Richard didn’t seem like he was in a good mood. He was somber, and Gavin didn't really want to get under his skin when he was in moods like that.

 

Richard leads him for a stroll throughout the manor. He takes him by the hand as they walk, gently rubbing the back of his hand.

They got to a door, one Connor was sitting near, and Richard pulls him forward.

 

"You'll watch him, right?"

"Of course."

 

Richard thanks him. 

Richard kisses the wrist of the hand he was holding, opens the door, and then shoves Gavin inside.

 

"What the fuck, Richard?"

He fully expected to be kicked in the mouth for that.

Instead Richard crouches before him. He explains to him that he is leaving him. That he was free.

For now.

 

_Be a good little boy, and maybe I'll come back for you._

 

———

 

The Sheriff's eyes slip back open when the door opens. His hat has fallen onto the floor. He picks it up and puts it back onto the top of his head.

"Yes?" 

"Sheriff, you have a walk-in concerned about personal businesses, but Father Manfred also _just_ came in. Who do you want to see first?"

 

Reed lets out a yawn. "Can you bring in the walk-in if the priest ain't in a hurry?"

Chloe leans out and asks the Priest over her shoulder.

 

"Father says he'll be alright."

"Alright," the Sheriff clears his throat. "Can you bring back a glass of water, also?"

"Yessir."

He thanks her before she leaves and takes his feet off of the desk. He ends up knock a couple of pens from the desk in the process, and leans down to grab them. The door opens and shuts while he's down.

"Oh, sorry," he clears his throat again. The heat has his parched. "Give me a second, feel free to take a seat."

A glass was placed on his desk.

 

"I should be fine standing, thank you."

 

That's another familiar voice.

Very fucking familiar.

 

The Sheriff scrambles to stand, bumps the top of his head on the desk on his way up. The hat does little to protect him, and in fact, it catches on the edge of his desk as he stands. He reaches under it to rub the knot that’s sure to rise the next morning. He curses once under his breath before looking up and—

 

There he is.

There stands Richard. 

And across from him, Reed stands there, stock still as he stares at what has to be some apparition.

 

“Hello again, Gavin.”

 

Gavin is still standing there.

 

“Come here please.”

 

Gavin walks around the desk and stands before him. Richard places his hands on his face. His thumbs run over his cheeks and traces the bags underneath his eyes.

“You look tired, pet.”

Gavin closes his eyes and nods. He feels at peace for the first time in years. Richard sighs.

“Take off your hat.”

Gavin obeys and is rewarded with one Richard’s hands running through his hair.

 

“So soft... you’re graying, though. If you come with me, we can get that to stop.”

 

To go with him. 

 

Sheriff Reed’s eyes snap back open. He pushes Richard off of him, sets his hat back on, and lets hands rest on his belt.

 

“Don’t you _DARE_ touch me.”

Richard raises a brow. 

“I do _not_ have de-eal with you any, anymore,” he takes a breath, air isn’t coming that easy to him right now. “And I don’t have to ming-mingle with vermin like you or your kind anymore!”

 

They stand there. Richard’s perfect set eyebrows ride high on his pale face. The Sheriff lets out that breath he took earlier, readjusts his hands on his belt. He was nervous and his hands were shaking, and he didn’t want Richard to see it. 

 

He could probably smell it on him though. Because now he was laughing. A light, rumbling sound erupted from him as he threw his head back, just laughing. It made Gavin tremble.

“You are very much like... how I found you. You are oblivious.”

 

Reed squints and leans in a bit. “ _Oblivious?_ ”

Richard tilts his head. “Yes. You don’t like ‘vermin like me?’" He spreads his arms out wide. "Take a good look around you, dove, you’re surrounded.” He stops when Gavin straitens. “Don’t worry, though, I won’t spoil who’s what for you.”

 

Richard lets out another laugh. “Oh, Gavin,” he says softly, and then reaches past to grab the glass and places it into the Sheriff’s hand. “Get some rest. I’ll send for you soon.”

 

Reed is left in the room, glass in hand, staring at the door that the terror from years ago just stepped through. He stands there a bit longer, before downing the whole glass. 

He steps into the lobby, and is instantly approached by his secretary.

 

“Oh, Sheriff, I was just about to send Father Manfred in.”

He looks at her.

“Oh, well, give me a few—”

 

The Sheriff narrows his eyes at her.

She’s so pale. So lovely. So... familiar.

 

“Hey, Chloe, doll, you look a bit pale. Have you— uh, have you eaten yet?”

Her pretty little eyes widen. “Oh! I’m not very... hungry at the moment, I’ll probably eat something on the way back home.” She smiles to herself. “Thank you very kindly for asking."

 

He glances at the priest over her shoulder. He was speaking with one of his nuns and a blonde decon he had brought along.

Both the nun and the decon were just as pale as Chloe. And Richard. The heat at this hour is supposed to turn you ruddy, no matter what your complexion— speaking of which, the priest was pretty pale when it came to his own undertones.

 

Reed blanches. Could they all be—

"Sheriff, you look a bit pale yourself, you should go get yourself some lunch."

When his attention comes back to his secretary and her little concerned face, he realized that, yeah, he hasn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. He's absolutely starved.

 

But nevermind that! 

He's in a room just _riddled_ with vampiric _scum_ , and how in the ever loving _hell_ is he supposed to be able to get holy water from the priest when the priest _himself_ is one of them?

 

He shakes his head. "M'not hungry either."

Chloe frown.

"In fact," he puts his hands in his pockets, they're shaking again. "I'm gonna try and, uh, turn in a bit early? I'm not feelin' very, uh, well."

He looks at Father Manfred. "Sorry for calling you all the way down here for nothing."

Father Manfred looks at him, very worried. "Please don't beat yourself up over it, I'll be fine. Do get well, please."

The Sheriff gives him a half-hearted smile before abruptly leaving. He had to get out of here.

 

He begins by walking, briskly, towards the outskirts, but knowing that he'd have to pass the grocery, which most definitely harbors more vermin as employment, he breaks into a run.

He runs all the way home, no stops, only speeding up when someone calls out to him.

 

Are any of his _deputies_ blood suckers? Hank was awful nice to that Connor boy, was he— no no, there's no way, he was from his last town. But Chloe's sisters definitely were, in those pictures his brother sent him they looked like they haven't aged a day.

 

These thoughts were racing through his head, even as he runs up to the back door of his house.

Wait. He stumbles to a stop.

 

_Does_ Richard _know where he lives?_

 

'Cause he knows what town he's in. Does he know what house?

 

This thought hits him like a ton of bricks, leaving him dizzier than he's been all day.

He's swaying now, so he eases himself to his knees.

This means he can't go inside.

He's shaking. His breaths come harder.

 

Well how in the FUCK is he supposed to pack and get the heck outta dodge now?

 

He doesn't have to think too hard on it for long though.

Cause right now he's passed out in the dirt path leading up to the steps of his back door.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is completely unbeta'd if you have any suggestions on how I can be better, please tell me!
> 
> Be nice though, I'm a sensitive bitch.


End file.
